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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057347">Pilot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenmuffinsoup55555/pseuds/chickenmuffinsoup55555'>chickenmuffinsoup55555</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the batfam supernatural au no one asked for [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Dick is such a mom, Gen, but we also love him, but we love him, damian doesn't listen to anyone, dick and jason pretty much co-parent their brothers, listen, they might be little shits to each other but they love each other so much, this is literally the spn pilot episode but with the batboys, tim is a nerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:54:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenmuffinsoup55555/pseuds/chickenmuffinsoup55555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A year and half removed from the death of their father, brothers Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian travel the country on the hunt for the supernatural--saving people, hunting things.  The family business.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the batfam supernatural au no one asked for [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pilot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: <br/>there are a few BRIEF mentions of suicide, it's something that was mentioned in the original supernatural episode, they are few and non-graphic<br/>dick ends up in a situation very similar to one that sam does if you are familiar with the episode, involving non-consensual touching that again lasts very briefly</p><p>that being said, you don't really need to be familiar with supernatural to understand the plot!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dick woke up to the smell of smoke.  Dread pooled in his stomach as he shot up out of bed.  His hip slammed into the empty bed by the door as he ran out of his room.  He was drawn instantly to the second bedroom; he could feel the heat from down the hall, feel the smoke being drawn into his lungs.  He almost tripped again as he ran down the hall, which he </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>have because messing up gets you killed, but this was their </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this shouldn’t be happening-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick tore open the door, and smoke poured out into his face, he coughed and gagged and his eyes were burning and dripping tears but he could still see, through the smoke and the salt water-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce!” he screamed and he would have ran in, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to run in, but below the roar of the fire he heard quick feet running up the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick pulled himself out of the doorway and bodily stopped Tim, whose bright eyes were wild and more alert than Dick had seen them in </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick! What’s happen-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tim, take your brother outside as fast as you can!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Dick-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Tim, </span>
  <em>
    <span>go!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim took off, and, as ordered, grabbed Damian, who had just stumbled out of their room.  Dick didn’t look to see if Tim got him out, he knew he would.  He scrambled back to the doorway, but the flames were higher, he felt like his face was melting before he’d stepped into the room, and for a moment, just a moment, everything froze, and then-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was out the front door and dragging Tim and Damian, who stood in the middle of the front yard, transfixed on the flames, further from the house just as a fireball engulfed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father!” Damian screamed, resisting Dick’s attempts to get him to safety.  “Where’s Father?!  Father!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damian</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dick sobbed.  It was taking all his strength to hold him back but he couldn’t let him go.  “Damian, I’m sorry, D, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick had collapsed to his knees, and in his arms Damian was screaming and screaming and already his voice was hoarse.  Dick was perversely grateful that Tim seemed shell-shocked, staring at the house, orange-red flames reflecting in his pale blue eyes, unable to say or do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D, I’m so sorry, please…”  Dick buried his face in Damian’s shoulder even as he fought and punched and kicked him.  After hours, after what </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>like hours, Damian too broke down in sobs, little fingers curled around the back of Dick’s t-shirt in a death grip.  Hot tears squeezed from the corner of Dick’s eyes.  Tim sat next to them in the grass, silent tears streaming down his face, his only point of contact with Dick was their locked hands.  Tim’s fingers were white and strained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sirens sounded and the water came too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick squeezed his brothers tight and swore to never let them go.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>One and a half years later…</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Jason announced to the car at large.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick turned to his brother, a picture of affected innocence as he flipped through Jason’s god awful CD’s.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jason, I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>try and supersede your great wisdom in your music taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason snorted.  “Yeah, right.  Just put in ‘Double Vision’ and don’t touch anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutifully, Dick inserted the album.  Behind him, Tim groaned theatrically as the opening beat of “Hot Blooded” flooded the Impala.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, do we have to listen to this again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason’s only response was to turn the music up louder.  Dick glanced to the back of the car and frowned because he was pretty sure Damian had turned the volume up on his headphone up way too high.  Tim slammed his head against his headrest and Damian spared him a judgmental frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to need to turn that down if you want to hear about our next hunt,” Dick said to Jason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Jason said, making no move to do so.  Dick rolled his eyes at his brother before reaching over himself.  “Alright,” Jason said, as if he hadn’t just performed a childish display of pettiness, “Hit me with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it away, Timmy,” Dick said, turning back again to Tim.  Tim leaned forward and turned on his tablet, beside him, Damian pulled out one of his headphones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Tim said, shifting into his ‘listen-to-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about- voice.’  “So, Jericho, California-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know that part,” Jason interrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Men are disappearing off Centennial Highway, and have been for the past twenty years.  Ten total, but two in the past two weeks, most recent was last night.  Only trace left of the men have been their cars, often pretty bloody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you think this is our kinda gig?” Jason asked.  His eyes were still fixed on the road, but he was all business now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, did you hear what I said?  Twenty year time span, no trace left behind?  Seems supernatural to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regardless,” Dick cut in, “worst case scenario, it’s not our kinda thing, and we help take down some old serial killer.  Still doing the world a favor if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask you, Dickhead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes again and let the insult lie.  He knew it was just Jason’s way of acquiescing without actually lowering himself to agreeing with his older brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason turned the music up again, and everyone tuned out into their own world as the mile markers passed.  As they sped by the sign for Jericho each of the boys became more alert, already observing things about the town at large.  Dick smiled a little, glad to see at least some evidence they took what he said to heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not far into town, they saw a bridge swarmed with cop cars.  The bridge’s two lanes were both cut off from traffic, and Dick could make out a distinctly not police car near the center of the bridge, parked haphazardly with one door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason glanced at Dick.  “Wanna go introduce ourselves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick nodded as Jason pulled the car over a couple feet from the bridge.  “What are we today, Jay?” he asked, opening up the glovebox and flipping through several badges.  He pulled out one with his own face on it declaring Dick Antilles and held it up to his face.  “US Marshals?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll do,” Jason said, reaching over and grabbing his own corresponding badge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay in the car, kiddos,” Dick called back to Tim and Damian as he and Jason left the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you leave the car on?” Tim asked, halfway shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick leaned back into the car.  “Just roll down the windows, we’ll be right back,” he said before slamming his door shut.  He could make out two sets of voices grumbling over the sound of the manual windows being rolled down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a bee-</span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>-tiful day, isn’t it, Jay?” Dick said, stretching his arms over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s hot as fuck is what it is,” Jason said, unfolding a pair of aviators before sliding them onto his face.  Dick knew the sunglasses weren’t just a stylistic choice; people may generally mistake Jason for older than he was, but he was still young, too young to actually be half the authority figures they posed as.  The sunglasses aged him up, even if only a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was also too young, but he’d found operating on sheer charm alone worked quite well for him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Howdy there!” Dick called out to the officers working the scene as he and Jason approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” one of the officers said, holding out a hand, “but this is an active crime scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick whipped out his badge and the cop narrowed his eyes to read it.  Jason, standing a half-step behind him, pulled out his own badge much slower.  “US Marshals,” Dick explained.  “Just passing through.  What’s going on here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little young for Marshals,” the officer commented, but didn’t seem too suspicious, apparently taking the badges at face value.  “Kid went missing, name’s Troy.”  He gestured behind him.  “Found his car here on the bridge.”  Dick craned his neck to look at the car.  There was a painful red blood spatter staining the entire windshield.  He shot a quick but meaningful glance at Jason, whose returning look was made unreadable by the sunglasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another officer, a little taller than the first one, who had been standing a few feet away, meandered over.  “Troy’s a good kid,” he said.  “My daughter’s been dating him for a while now.  She’s been putting missing posters up downtown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got no leads yet,” the first officer said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall officer focused on something behind Dick and Jason.  He huffed a laugh.  “Is it take your kid to work day?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Jason and Dick turned to look behind them, despite knowing the officer had noticed Tim and Damian in the car.  Both of them were leaning out of the car door windows, fanning themselves dramatically.  Dick pursed his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Part of our case,” Jason said by way of explanation.  “Been a bit of a handful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet,” the officer said.  “I remember when my daughter was around their age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason smirked, and Dick knew he would be teasing Tim for being mistaken to be Damian’s age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dick said, deciding to wrap up before they gave the officers a reason to be suspicious.  “Well, thanks for taking the time to talk to us, but we should let you get back to your case.  Plus,” Dick jabbed a thumb back towards the Impala, “we probably shouldn’t be leaving the kiddos in a hot car for too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They gave one last wave to the officers before sliding back into their seats to a chorus of “turn on the AC, turn on the AC!”  Jason, deciding to take the opportunity to be a little shit, moved his hand with exaggerated slowness as he moved to turn the key.  Dick, starting to feel smothered by the heat himself, slapped Jason’s arm, and he finally moved at a normal pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason started up the car and cruised through the town slowly.  It seemed a nice enough town, Dick thought, if a little dead.  Hardly any of the buildings seemed new; everything was covered in a pencil-thin layer of rust and age.  The streets were largely empty, with only a handful of people walking the streets and an even smaller number of cars parked on the street.  Dick ignored Tim and Damian’s demands for information, letting Jason field them for the time being.  Dick didn’t ask where Jason was taking them, trusting him to take them to the best place to start their investigation.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple minutes, Jason said, “Bingo,” and abruptly pulled the Impala into a parallel spot.  Dick glanced around and caught sight of two girls across the street, pinning a piece of paper to a telephone pole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know Jay, I would have objected if I’d known we were cruising the streets for underage girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason scowled, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.  “Alright, smart ass.  How much you wanna bet that’s the girlfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We playing this with the badges?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually I think we’re some cousins.  From out of town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>come this time?” Tim pleaded from the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be more believable with Drake and myself,” Damian added, and Dick knew if those two were agreeing about something then it really must have been hot in the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Dick said.  “But you two are </span>
  <em>
    <span>really shy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim rolled his eyes and nodded.  Damian was less pleased with the order to stay quiet, but raised no complaint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four of them crossed the street, letting Dick spin their story, and they ended up in a diner with the two girls, Amy, Troy’s girlfriend, and her friend Rachel.  Dick tried his best to be positive and supportive, Amy was obviously taking it quite hard.  Apparently she had been on the phone with him what was likely only a few minutes or hours before he went missing.  But Dick had seen the amount of blood on the car, and carefully minced his words to avoid giving any false hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it’s not like it helps with all the stories,” Rachel said, during an offbeat in the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel,” Amy said, turning to her friend sharply.  Beside Dick, all three of his brothers leaned forward an almost imperceptible amount.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What stories?” Jason asked, quirking an eyebrow up, playing for casually interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy sighed and dropped an elbow to the table.  “The ghost stories,” she said, sounding resigned to the topic of conversation.  “Just some local legends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick turned his focus to Rachel.  She cast a quick, worried glance to her friend before turning back to the boys.  “There’s some story about a ghost on that highway.  There was a girl who was hit by a car while she was hitchhiking.  She died, but her ghost is still there, wandering the highway.  Now anybody who picks her up disappears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Troy wasn’t taken by a ghost,” Amy said.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick didn’t look, but he could feel his brothers exchanging a Look over his shoulders.  He had the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.  His brothers were many things, but generally speaking, subtle was not one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Dick began, cutting through the tension that had engulfed the table, “We’ll be on the lookout for some white sheets, but for now we’ll try and help out in a little more conventional ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy smiled, and the charged atmosphere dissipated.  “Thanks.  It’s good to know there are more people out there looking for Troy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They managed to wrap up the conversation with only one condescending outburst from Damian, which Dick managed to pass of as a side affect of grief-induced stress.  Dick ran a hand through his hair on the drive home, trying to decide if he should try and impress upon Damian </span>
  <em>
    <span>again </span>
  </em>
  <span>the importance of following his lead.  He always had trouble in disciplining Damian for two reasons.  One, he used to be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool </span>
  </em>
  <span>older brother.  When Bruce was around (when Bruce was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>) he did all the disciplining of Damian, and even if Damian didn’t listen very well, it at least meant that Dick didn’t have to.  Shifting roles, becoming Damian’s sole authority figure, it wasn’t easy, and Dick still felt the urge to baby Damian, even if he was far too old for it.  Two, Dick had determined from the moment he set eyes on Damian that he would never be allowed to hunt.  And considering most of his scolding involved the line of reasoning: you can’t do that because it will put off the witness or make them suspicious or get you killed, all things only hunters needed to worry about, it made it hard to make Damian understand why he was being scolded.  It certainly didn’t help that the only thing in the world Damian wanted to do was be a hunter, just like his brothers, and just like his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim, well, he wasn’t an angel, not by a long shot, but you only had to tell him something once.  Unless of course, that something was ‘get some sleep’ or ‘only one more cup’ or ‘don’t hack into the pentagon we don’t need that kind of heat.’  But for the most part, Tim was much more controllable, and rarely even needed to be under any control.  He worked well left to his own devices.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when they settled into a motel on the edge of town, with a flickering ‘Vacancy’ sign, Dick let him do just that.  Tim whipped out his laptop before he even sat down and completely tuned out everyone around him.  Dick sometimes worried about Tim’s tendency to hyper-focus, worried it could get him killed in the field.  He’d long since given up any hope that Tim would stay out of the life.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason had left and come back with dinner by the time Tim had finished his research.  He had a few scribbled notes on the motel pad that were completed unreadable to anybody but him, and Dick would be willing to bet he already had a folder on his laptop devoted to the case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said when he finally looked up from his laptop.  “So, turns out, there’s never been a girl hit by a car on that Highway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, the ghost story’s all made up?” Jason asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not entirely,” Tim said.  “At least, I don’t think so.  Because there was a death on the Highway.  A woman named Constance Welch committed suicide on the bridge in 1981.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>After </span>
  </em>
  <span>drowning her two children in their bathtub.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yikes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  I think this might be a ‘woman in white’ ghost thing going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said 1981.  These killings have been happening for twenty years.  What took her so long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno.  It sometimes takes ghosts a while to manifest, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So a woman in white,” Dick cut in.  “A woman, somehow betrayed by her boyfriend or husband, temporary insanity before she kills herself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim nodded.  “That’s right.  They typically are responsible for the disappearances of men or children, often,” Tim tapped his laptop screen, “on roads or near rivers, and our very own Centennial Highway is both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.  Got a name for the husband?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joseph Welch.  Still lives in town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we should pay him a visit in the morning.  Ask him if he happened to have horribly betrayed his wife while she was alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m more interested in finding where this woman is buried.  A quick salt-n-burn and we don’t gotta hear about the gruesome details,” Jason said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I’ve never been a fan of desecrating the graves of people who are not currently homicidal ghosts,” Dick drawled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree with Grayson,” Damian interjected.  “It’s best to be as informed as possible before we attempt to eliminate the ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the support Dami,” Dick said.  “But I think it’s about time for bed.”  Without warning, Dick scooped Damian up from the couch, holding him bridal style as Damian attempted to struggle out of the hold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Un</span>
  <em>
    <span>hand</span>
  </em>
  <span> me Grayson!” he said, making a valiant effort to wiggle to freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh sure, I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>unhand </span>
  </em>
  <span>you,” Dick said before pretending to drop Damian.  Damian managed to keep his scowl up until Dick started dipping him upside-down, and then he devolved into fits of giggling.  Which, for Damian, was silent body shaking, but adorable all the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Jason said, sitting on the opposite bed and pulling off his boots.  “Get him all riled up before bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a-” Damian paused as he was inverted upside down “-child, Todd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better watch out Jay,” Dick said, and Jason barely managed to hop off the bed before Dick tossed Damian onto it.  Damian bounced all the way off the bed and silent giggled for a couple more seconds before his face settled into a more familiar frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, Timmy,” Dick said, dropping himself on the bed next to Damian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim closed his laptop slowly, and his hand lingered on it for a moment before he looked up at Dick.  “I was thinking,” he said, and Dick preemptively sucked in a breath, “if we finish up this hunt fairly quickly, could we stay in town for a few days?  Or maybe a little more?  It seems nice enough here, and we’re not so far from the beach, and I think we passed a rock-climbing place on the way in-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tim,” Dick said, trying to keep the conflict out of his own voice, “You know the rules-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no sticking around where you’ve hunted, but I was hoping-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tim, we’ve already given conflicting stories,” Jason called over from the couch.  “Staying would be risky and stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s about time we took a break,” Dick offered.  “We’ve been doing back to back hunts for a while.  After this, we can split town and take a vacation.  How does that sound Timmy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tim said, short.  “Fine.”  He grabbed his bag as he crossed the room to the bathroom.  “And it’s just Tim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason laughed as the bathroom door slammed shut.  “‘It’s just Tim,’ Jesus, that kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick sighed.  “I guess you’re taking the couch?” he asked Jason, instead of addressing what was around the fifth of Tim’s door slams in as many days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Jason said, falling onto the couch, still completely clothed.  “So tomorrow we’ll hit the husband, hopefully burn the body and then roll out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Dick said, popping the ‘p’ as he shoved Damian over out of the middle of the bed.  “If all goes to plan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason was up before any of his brothers, and that was by design.  His sleep schedule had been irreparably fucked up by college, and he consistently got around five hours of sleep every night.  Not that his brothers slept for much longer usually, and all of them could wake up on the drop of a pin.  But Jason always woke up first.  That way, he tiptoed through the room and always got first dibs on a shower.  Depending on the quality of the motel room they’d stay in, the thickness of the walls and such, the running water had about a fifty fifty shot of waking everybody else up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This particular motel room’s walls must not have been very thick, because Jason stepped out of the bathroom to see Dick awake on his and Damian’s bed, hair askew and blinking blearily.  Jason also suspected Tim was awake, but only pretending to still be sleeping.  Damian was the only one actually still asleep, something Jason could tell by the soft snoring he was making; Damian vehemently denied that he snored, and therefore if he were pretending to sleep, he’d do it in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee?” Jason asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Dick replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other bed, Tim and his lump of blankets rolled over, one of his hands shooting into the air, proving Jason’s theory right.  “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got cash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wallet.  My bag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason fished out Dick’s wallet and tossed his brother a mock salute on the way out, despite Dick staring blankly off into space.  Jason was halfway across the parking lot when he spotted the cops.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.”  He pulled out his phone and clicked the first contact.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jason, what the hell, you just left</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cops, Dickie, grab the kids and split.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief moment of silence on the line before Jason caught the sound of fabric rustling.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>And you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too late.  Think they’ve spotted me.  Get lost, follow the case, I’ll make a break and meet you somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay.  Stay safe,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dick said, before the line went dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason wanted to laugh at that.  He wasn’t the one hunting a ghost right now.  Briefly, Jason considered making a break for it, but the two officers were already too close, and it left the possibility that one would make chase, and the other would check their room.  No, it would be easier to act as a distraction for the others if he talked his way through this.  Besides, he thought, there was the off chance that their cover hadn’t been blown yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if it isn’t the US Marshal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nope, their cover was definitely blown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Officers,” Jason said, presenting them with his best shit-eating grin.  “Any new leads?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your partner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a sad story, actually, tragic.  He died.  Horrifically, last night, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>missed him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first officer looked to his partner and jabbed his thumb towards the motel room.  The officer got the message and started walking towards their room.  Jason almost considered attacking the officer, or something equally drastic, just to draw attention, but then the first officer was talking to him again and he just hoped Dick and the kids got their asses in gear fast enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, fake names, fake badges, fake credit cards.  You got anything that is real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason pretended to think for a moment.  “My boobs,” he said, with a smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing Jason knew he was being slammed against a cop car with handcuffs clicking into place on his wrists.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jason could see the second cop leave the motel room and shake his head minutely.  The smile Jason gave then was not for show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was by far not his first ride in a cop car, and Jason highly doubted it would be his last.  The officers didn’t address him during the ride, and Jason could only assume they’d been instructed not to.  He was a little offended, to be honest, he would have loved to engage in conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason’s a model prisoner as they shifted his cuffs so he’d be chained to the table in what he assumed must pass as their interrogation room.  Glancing around, Jason also thought it must pass as their storage room too.  He looked for points of escape, the only viable one being the windows above some filing cabinets on the other side of the room.  They were narrow, but Jason was sure he could slip through.  He tapped his thumb against the cold, metal table, wishing he’d had his lock pick on him, or something he could use to bust out of the cuffs.  He knew Dick could handle himself, hell, he’d been hunting for longer than anybody Jason even knew (unless you counted Alfred, which Jason didn’t because Alfred himself had always insisted he was not a hunter), but things had a tendency to go to shit in the field, especially if Dick had to drag around Tim and Damian.  He only hoped Dick could find somewhere to drop the two kids before he went after this thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took far too fucking long, in Jason’s opinion, for someone to finally show up to interrogate him.  It’s not one of the two officers who’d picked up Jason, someone new, shorter, heavy-set, and who he assumed must be the chief of police.  He slapped a fat file onto the table with a satisfying </span>
  <em>
    <span>smack! </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Jason knew why it took him so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” the man began, settling himself into the opposite chair, “Jason Todd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason stared at the file and as much as he tried not to, he could feel his upper lip curling with resentment.  He was not interested in having his life’s story spit back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chief opened the file and flipped through it, but Jason knew he was just putting on a show.  “What’s a bright young kid like you doing impersonating a US Marshal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not the opening Jason was expecting, but he could roll with it.  “I’m a theater kid at heart.  I thought I’d try out a character or two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chief didn’t look impressed.  “You had a scholarship at Stanford, some good money, before you dropped out and hit the road to-what, commit credit card fraud?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason shrugged.  “Pays the bills.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be honest,” the chief continued, like Jason hadn’t said anything, “It’s a very unique situation.  Looks like you dropped out right after the death of your guardian, Bruce Wayne.  Died in a house fire, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason’s hands tightened into fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He died leaving two dependents, Timothy Drake, and his biological son, Damian.  And then Richard Grayson,” the chief pulled out Dick’s wallet which they’d lifted off of Jason, “barely old enough to drink, gains legal guardianship over both of them.  Very unique situation,” he said again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Jason said shortly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanna know what makes someone who seems to have it all made drop everything and go on a crime-spree road trip with his foster-brothers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grief does some wild things,” Jason said, knowing he was failing at keeping his voice any kind of light or nonchalant.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, son-” Jason rankled at that “-right now?  You’re a suspect.  If you can’t start giving me some explanation for this,” he waved his hand over the file, “you’re gonna be looking at a long time in prison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say he wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough for that to happen, he also wanted to spit some choice words in the chief’s face for bringing up Bruce, but he didn’t do any of that.  Instead he just smiled, sickly sweet, and said, “I couldn’t, by chance, be getting a lawyer to speak with right about now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chief’s expression shifted into a grimace, and Jason couldn’t help but smile wider.  He kept the smile as the chief left the room and it didn’t fade as he caught sight of the file still on the table.  Just out of reach, a paperclip was nestled between some papers in the file.  Bingo.  He strained against the cuffs, stretching his fingers out as far as they would go, just barely brushing against the file.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath.  He glanced over to the door, swiveling his head to try and get all the angles he could to see out the sliver of a window.  No one watching, as far as he could tell.  “I’m gonna look like a fucking monkey,” Jason said in resignation.  He pushed himself up so he was crouched with his feet on the seat of his chair, leaned forward, over where his hands were handcuffed to the table, and smacked his head against the file.  He kept pressure on the file and managed to drag it just a couple inches closer to his hands.  He dropped down so his backside was back firmly in the chair and snagged the paperclip off the file.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, it was a much simpler matter to get the handcuffs off, check again for anyone watching, and climb up on the filing cabinets to slip through the window.  It was slightly higher than he was expecting, and he just barely managed to catch himself with his hands instead of landing face first in the dirt.  He picked up the file and Dick’s wallet, both of which he’d grabbed off the table and then tossed out the window before himself.  It was just lucky the chief had brought Dick’s wallet in for the interrogation, and just petty spite that made him grab the file, too.  There was no reason to, he knew that, but it just ground on him that they knew such intimate details of his family’s lives.  They could easily print out all their records again, but at least this way he gets his message across.  The message being something along the lines of ‘don’t fuck with my family.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They still had his phone, which was a bit of a setback, and he’d have to remember to tell Dick they needed to burn all the numbers that were on the phone.  He needed to find a phone somewhere, stay under the radar of the cops, and somehow get to wherever his brothers were now.  On top of that, Jason had no idea how long he’d been held.  But first things first.  He took off running, trying to put the greatest distance possible between him and the police station.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick looked towards the back of the Impala.  Two faces stared back at him expectantly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay in the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two faces turned into frowns as Dick left the car.  He walked warily over to the chain gate that enclosed the junkyard.  It was almost twice as tall as him and posted with a ‘BEWARE OF DOG’ sign.  On cue, a chorus of barking began, and two dogs came running up to the fence, howling and spitting.  Dick reached over and knocked on the sign.  It couldn’t be heard over the dogs, but it only seemed polite.  He didn’t have to wait long before a man appeared out of the house in the middle of the yard.  He was older and more worn than he was in the blurred photograph in the online newspaper clipping, but it was clearly Joseph Welch.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Mr. Welch?” Dick said, trying not to yell, but loud enough to be heard of the dogs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush!”  For a split second, Dick thought he was talking to him, before the dogs backed off and away from the fence.  “Yeah, that’s me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a reporter with the Jericho Times, and I’m doing a story about all deaths that have occurred on Centennial Highway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Welch’s face tightened fractionally.  He knew where Dick was going with this.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your late wife, Constance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to know?” he asked.  It wasn’t short, exactly, but he didn’t offer to open the gate for Dick, and that said enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to reconfirm some details about Constance’s death.  I understand she committed suicide?  Any extra details you can tell me would be greatly appreciated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  She did.  I don’t thinks he could live in a world where her children weren’t.”  After all this time, the pain in the man’s voice was still evident, and Dick felt sorry for making him talk about it.  “She was the love of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you had a happy marriage then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat.  “Definitely.”  Dick nodded.  An obvious enough lie, but it would be cruel to press, especially when Dick was already sure he knew the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is Constance buried?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Welch blinked.  “A plot.  Back behind our old house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.  So why’d you move?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Welch shook his head.  “I couldn’t live in the same place my </span>
  <em>
    <span>children </span>
  </em>
  <span>died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unwillingly, Dick glanced back towards the Impala, where he could just see the tops of Tim and Damian’s heads.  Whatever this man may have done, those kids didn’t deserve to die.  He pulled his gaze back to Welch.  The papers had definitely implied Constance had killed her own children.  He didn’t seem to be under that impression.  Another thing that would be easy to press, even if it didn’t accomplish anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Welch.  I really appreciate it.”  Dick gave his best smile, but it didn’t do anything to ease the confusion and suspicion evident in the man’s face.  It was a bizarre interview, but Dick had a location and a reason to hurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Welch nodded belatedly.  “Yeah.  Sure.”  He turned to head back to his house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you get me the location of the old Welch house?” Dick asked Tim as soon as he sat back in the car.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Tim said, pulling out his phone quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I gotta find some place to drop the two of you off before I go after this ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going alone?” Tim asked.  “Why not wait for Jason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he pulled the car out of the lot, Dick checked his phone.  No new messages.  “Jason hasn’t called, so I can only assume he hasn’t gotten out yet.  The longer we go without ending this, the more likely it is for someone else to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we should get Todd first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was a little surprised that Damian would choose to retrieve Jason rather than hunt a monster.  “If Jason hasn’t broken out by now, it’ll be harder than we thought.  It’s best to end this, then expend our energy getting him out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled back at the two of them in the mirror.  “It’ll be fine.  We’ll work it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither looked reassured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ended up dropping them off at a Motel 6 that was close by to the old Welch house, off the Centennial Highway.  They both were sullen, but it was Damian this time who slammed the motel room door in Dick’s face, before Tim had even gone inside.  Dick just sighed and sternly reminded Tim of the protocol if someone showed up at their door or if something happened to him or Jason.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dark by the time Dick was on the road again, zooming down the highway towards the Welch house.  He was relieved when his phone rang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yep.  Where are you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the road to the old Welch house.  Apparently Constance is buried here.  I dropped the boys off at a Motel 6.  Are the cops on your tail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet, but you bet they will be.  Probably should wrap this up fast.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the idea.  Here, if you want to meet me at the-holy shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick slammed his foot on the breaks.  The phone went flying from his hands and he almost smacked his head into the steering wheel.  He heard a thump coming from the back of the car.  He breathed heavily for a minute, trying to process the spike of adrenaline.  His headlights were on, but there was nothing in front of him.  The figure he saw that had made him slam the breaks was gone.  He heard a muted, tinny sound that might’ve been coming from his phone.  Before he could reach around to find it, the car went cold, sending goosebumps up Dick’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Constance Welch was beautiful, and unlike her husband, she didn’t look a day older than she did in that newspaper.  And, she was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala.  She wore a white dress that was clean and unruffled, except for the splatter of blood near her collar.  But it wasn’t like looking at a person.  Dick thinks that if he’d never learned of the supernatural, if he hadn’t seen dozens of ghosts over the years, he could have mistaken her for a person.  But the sort of person that you see and just sort of know there’s something off about them.  Something that doesn’t belong in this world.  Like you could reach out to them and you could touch them and go right through them at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, they both stared at each other.  Then Constance spoke and again it was a there and not sound, a sound that Dick suspected could be heard on this plane and the next.  “Take me home,” she said.  Dick didn’t quite like the look that accompanied it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached out a hand, solid but cold and all wrong, and ran it down his arm.  It send chills throughout his whole body in a very bad way.  She scooted closer and Dick scooted away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This might’ve been something he had overlooked about the woman in white myth.  Sometimes, the ghosts tried to tempt men into unfaithfulness.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t…</span>
  <em>
    <span>tempt</span>
  </em>
  <span> me,” he said awkwardly.  “I don’t have anyone I can be unfaithful to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Take me home</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said again, more forcefully this time.  The Impala clicked into gear.  Dick stared at the gearshift.  He did not move that.  The engine revved and the car lurched into motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Dick repeated under his breath.  He needed his gun, some iron, salt, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why the hell didn’t he have any of that in the front seat?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car stopped abruptly in front of a clearly abandoned old house that Dick could only assume was ‘home.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can never go home,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoulda thought of that before you brought yourself home,” Dick muttered, and the ghost’s head snapped towards him unnaturally fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flickered out of existence, and for a brief second, Dick thought she’d really left, he wasn’t a cheater, after all, but then she was back, right on top of him, running her hands all over him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> he hated it, hated it so much-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t kill me,” he said, hoping it was true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, she might’ve seen that as a challenge.  In an instant, all her worldly beauty was gone, replaced by something awful, a wraith-like apparition with hollowed out eyes, faded out grey skin, and a gaping black hole where a mouth should be.  She dug her hands-</span>
  <em>
    <span>claws</span>
  </em>
  <span>-into his chest and then nothing else mattered except the pain.  It was a surface level pain, like someone was digging ten individual knives into his skin, slowly slowly pushing deeper, but it was also something more.  It felt like something, something inside of him, was being ripped out, dragged awfully to the surface.  The only lucid thought he could manage was that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to die, couldn’t leave yet-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was weird.  That didn’t sound like Dick, but Dick was the only one in the car.  Besides the ghost, but she was trying to kill him, so she probably wasn’t the one calling out denials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ghost froze, staring at something behind Dick, and for a half second he could breathe again, he could think past the pain, and then he froze too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damian,” he said, like a breath.  He had thought he was scared before, but now?  His little brother was in the same car as a murderous ghost and God, he must have snuck in while he was talking to Tim.  Constance, because she was Constance again, at least in appearance, stared at Damian like, well, like she had seen a ghost, and Damian stared back, nose scrunched up, standing his ground, but Dick could see his fists shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t go home, huh?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick thought, desperate.  He shoved the car in gear and stomped on the accelerator.  Damian slammed into the back of his seat, but he’d be fine, he’d rather a bruise than let this ghost lay one awful, frozen finger on him.  He went crashing through the door of the house, sending wood flying in every direction.  Dick’s face smacked against the windshield, and he felt liquid slip down his face, probably blood.  Constance was gone and Dick had to kick his door open but he did it.  As fast as he could, he went to the back door and pulled it open, running a quick hand through Damian’s hair.  He was floating in and out of consciousness, and he tried to wake him gently but fast, they needed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dami?  Dami, please, wake up, I need you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richard?” Damian asked blearily forcing his eyes open.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank God,” Dick said, “We need to get out of here, Damian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed Damian from under his armpits and picked him up, with Damian clinging to him tightly.  He had just barely pulled Damian out of the car when the ghost was back.  She was flickering in and out, more incorporeal than she had been in the car, but she was there.  She flung out a hand, and an overturned piece of furniture flew towards Dick and Damian.  Dick didn’t have time to do anything more than pull Damian out of the way before it slammed into him, a sharp pain from the waist down, pinning him against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushed the furniture harder against Dick, and he groaned, unable to hide the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richard?” Damian asked.  He was scared, so scared, every line in his body said so, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t Dick have his gun, it couldn’t have truly hurt her, but it would have been better than nothing, than this </span>
  <em>
    <span>helplessness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Something stole the ghost’s attention, and the pressure on his legs faded some.  The ghost turned to the top of the stairs where two children stood.  They were young, younger than Damian, but they both had the same shock of black hair as Damian.  Water trickled on either side of them, running down the stairs, and Dick remembered how these children had died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve come home to us, Mommy,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” they said in unison.  Dick blinked and they were down the stairs moving without moving towards their mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Constance said, “No, I can’t come here, I can’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They enveloped her in a hug and she screamed.  It was a scream inhuman and so very human at the same time that it hurt to hear.  The water moved faster, louder, and the trio of spirits seemed to melt, their existences unraveling into just a puddle.  The pressure from the piece of furniture eased entirely, and Dick wasted no time in shoving it away.  Where the ghosts had stood now was just an innocuous puddle of water.  Dick pulled Damian closer to him for a moment, and Damian let him, holding him back just as hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick!  Damian!” Jason’s voice boomed and even though he was relatively sure the threat was neutralized Dick sighed in relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In here!” he called back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason and Tim came busting through the already thoroughly busted through doorway.  Jason stopped and looked both of them over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She came home,” Dick said.  “Jay, I think she’s gone.  But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you burned the bones?” Tim asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick shook his head.  “No.  Her kids were here…. I think they’re all gone but we should probably…just in case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.  Dick knew he hated digging up kids, and he did too, but they had to do it.  They couldn’t take the risk that Constance could hurt someone again, and the least those kids deserved was to be finally at rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason turned to start lamenting his car, and Dick was sure he’d be hearing about that until the day he died.  Dick ignored him, instead whispering assurances in Damian’s ear and coaxing him onto his own two legs.  Thankfully, both Jason and Tim averted their eyes and didn’t interrupt.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Damian was standing on his own, Dick dropped to one knee, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg as he did.  He smiled and brushed a hand over Damian’s head.  “We’re okay, right little D?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian had seen him and Jason come home from hunts bleeding and injured, and he’d fussed and acted concerned, but always in his Damian sort of way.  Prim and proper and rude and worried underneath.  But he’d never been there to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>they got hurt.  The closest he’d every come to seeing it was two and a half years ago, when Bruce had…. Naively, and perhaps cruelly, Dick hoped this would turn Damian off of hunting.  Hoped this could scare him into giving up the life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian reached out with his sleeve covering his hand and wiped under Dick’s cheekbone.  His sleeve came away bloody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick stood up, pain shooting through his legs, but held onto Damian’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick,” Tim said miserably.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was gone until it was too late, I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up, so I told Jason-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, it’s okay, Timmy, it’s fine.  We’re all here, we’re all okay.  I’ll talk to Damian about it later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let Damian shadow him as long as he could, until they’d gotten the Impala out of the house, and he and Jason had to go out back to salt and burn the bodies.  Ordinarily, Tim at least would be required to help, but there were kids involved.  Dick knew Jason noticed how beat up he was as they were digging, but he didn’t say anything about it.  It took them into the morning, and the sun was casting new light over the freshly covered graves when Dick asked, “So how’d it go with the cops?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason grunted.  “Well, I got their file on us in the car if you’re interesting in some light reading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick laughed.  “A file?  That’s something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t act so happy.  It’s just gonna mean trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but we have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>file</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  That’s hilarious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop being an idiot and get in the car.  Let’s blow this joint so we can get you some first aid.  You look like shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like shit Jay.  I’ve been attacked by a ghost.  What’s your excuse?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>One and a half years ago...</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the middle of the night when the knock on the door woke him up.  In the bed opposite him, Roy groaned loudly.  “Who the hell could that be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason had a few guesses, and most of those guesses were people who wanted to punch Roy in the face for all the stunts he pulled at a certain party.  Instead of naming them, he pretended to be asleep.  He didn’t think he fooled Roy, not really, but he groaned again and got out of bed, so Jason counted it as a win.  He just hoped whoever it was kept it down and didn’t wake Kori, who was sleeping in the next room over.  He knew she had a big test today and if she didn’t get a full night’s sleep, both Roy and Jason would be hearing about it for the next week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason rolled over and listened as Roy undid the latch for the door and pulled it open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.  Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m looking for Jason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason bolted up, instantly furious.  He knew that voice, and he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>no reason </span>
  </em>
  <span>to come bothering Jason at school in the middle of the fucking night.  He left his and Roy’s room and pushed past Roy to stand in the doorway.  He crossed his arms and faced off against a tired-looking Dick with bags under his eyes, and Damian and Tim behind him, standing uncharacteristically close to each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell do you want, Dick?” he snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Roy said, pointedly looking between Jason and Dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re my brothers,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I didn’t-” Roy wisely cut himself off before finishing that thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason made a quick show of looking behind Dick’s shoulder.  “What?  No Bruce waiting in the wings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jason,” and really, that should have been Jason’s first clue that something was wrong, Dick had always been about ten times more likely to use some ridiculous nickname than his actual name, “Can I talk to you in private?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason looked over at Roy, who held his hands up as if to say ‘up to you, man.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jason said firmly.  “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say to Roy too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick huffed and Jason’s face twitched, because he thought that was supposed to be a laugh, but it was dry and hard and utterly devoid of Dick’s usual humor.  “Okay.  Fine.  Jason, Dad’s dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the night, Jason had packed his bags, said his goodbyes to Kori and Roy, and hit the road with his brothers at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!  writing this has honestly been a blast</p></blockquote></div></div>
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